


The Mad Dinner Party

by WonderMint



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Warrior of Light - Freeform, Fetishizing Fetish, M/M, Mild S&M, Multi, Out of Character, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Religion Kink, Roleplay, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-05-18 13:16:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5929762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderMint/pseuds/WonderMint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You had agreed to a supper date with Lord Haurchefant. So why is Ser Aymeric tied to a chair, and where are the rest of his clothes?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Why is a Raven...

**Author's Note:**

> Quest Requirements: Female Adventurer, non-Lalafelin, Disciple of War or Magic level 50 or above.  
> Coerthas Central Highlands (x: 26, y: 17)  
> NPC: Haurchefant  
> *Players must first complete the main scenario quest “Before the Dawn.”  
> Quest Rewards: Lord Haurchefant and Ser Aymeric... and thou.
> 
> I had begun this well before finishing the Heavensward storyline. Here is my original introduction:
> 
> It is my dearest wish that the player is, at some point, able to date Lord Haurchefant, as regardless of gender he seems quite interested. It follows quite naturally that he's unashamedly bisexual, whatever the religious consequences. The date should be like him: batty and awkward, like with Barett in FFVII. Why on earth is Ser Aymeric roped into this? Because duh. Just duh. It's obviously just an excuse for me to torture him some more, and it's a cheap, easy way to crank up the awkward-meter.
> 
> Regretfully, I find it difficult to be very vague with this sort of story, so I've had to restrict it to female adventurers who aren't lalafel and who want to burn Ishgard to the ground. You know, like everyone does. As to class, I think the only real assumption I make is that the player has, at some point, worn, crafted, or discarded in anger, a pair of sabotons. I assume you're capable of getting your mitts on a Spring Dress and a pair of Linen Bottoms if you really need to. My apologies if this doesn't fit your idea of your own character. #notmyshepard
> 
> Unfortunately, as the player character is (according to the game story itself) a well-known, well-liked, attractive individual of many talents who functions as a proxy for the player, this means that the moment the player character is female they meet the core definition of a Mary Sue. This isn't my fault. Just ask yourself why that doesn't also apply to James Bond or Harry Potter. As the player character moves through a story of Square's creation, I am not coding this as either an OC or a Mary Sue. I will call it rather a specific take on an existing character which is otherwise rather ambiguously presented.
> 
> So without further ado, assuming you've met the quest requirements and clicked accept on the dialogue box, here is your date (Cutscene 1 of...?). /quest acceptance music

Ever since the Stone Vigil affair, you had been keeping a list. It was a short list, too short to bother writing down, and certainly not worth the bother of explaining to any who might happen to find it. But it was very important to you. One day, you had promised vainly, you were going to burn down the Holy See. Or shoot out the stone pillars supporting it with a Bertha cannon and watch it collapse into the sea of clouds. Maybe rediscover the secret of manufacturing zombie powder and re-commit one of history's greatest war crimes. Or possibly you'd just find the biggest axe you could lay your hands on and start chopping heads. It was endlessly fun to think about, even if nothing but an idle dream. But there was a very short list of Ishgardians that you had decided not to kill.

 

It started like this: Lord Haurchefant of House Foretemps, stalwart ally. He'd never been concerned with the prejudices of his countrymen, and unlike most of them it would take more than the word of an inquisitor to turn his back on a friend. When shit hit the fan, Lord Haurchefant was first to offer refuge, his home becoming your home, the 'falling snows.' Also, you were fairly certain the man was crazy, but it was the sort of crazy that you liked, that let a man act on his conscience with no fear of consequence. There was too much fear in Ishgard, too much guile, and the lord knew of neither.

 

Second, Ser Aymeric, Lord Commander of the Temple Knights. You'd been suspicious of him when you'd first met, but gradually you'd grown to trust him, even like him. He was magnetically attractive, regal, aloof, but most of all beautiful, and it was these qualities that had put you on your guard. After your experience with the false inquisitor, you had trusted no-one bearing the authority of the See, and the knight was far too compelling to trust. Worse yet, his tongue was as silver as his armor, able to negotiate Alphinaud to hells and back and always come out ahead. It had taken quite some time for you to see the respect he held for your both, concealed behind guarded expressions and neutral statements of fact. But always, when he negotiated, he seemed to find a way to advance your interests as well as those of his people, and so he had earned your trust.

 

Third, Lucia. Not much to say about her other than that she had Aymeric's trust, and thus yours. For now. Rounding out the list were the multitude of smallfolk worst abused by the inquisition, those who had lost loved ones or feared accusation or were simply too poor to defend themselves. You had no anger for the downtrodden. The knights, the nobility, the inquisitors... they would feel the fire.

 

That was all, really. Two friends, an honorable mention and a few vague ideals were all the good accredited to the noble state of Ishgard. You knew you wouldn't, realistically, take any action. You would likely be adding a large number of good folk to your list as Haurchefant would no-doubt introduce you to his most trusted friends and family, and really, you would be a guest... most importantly, you had spent your career stopping mass-murders, not causing them. But it was a fantasy you harbored, and no-one could deny a woman her fantasies.

 

But fantasies seemed to be in fashion of late. Lord Haurchefant had, with his usual enthusiasm and flair, asked you to join him in his quarters for dinner. When you had asked the occasion, he had only suggested a celebration of your mutual interests, and... well if that didn't sound like a proposition, you didn't know what would. So you had accepted, a woman going alone into a man's chambers, but both of you knowing you were strong enough to fight your way through his entire guard if you wanted to. You could handle him, and he was clearly interested in you, and you thought, just maybe, you were interested in return. Perhaps his madness was just what you wanted.

 

You dressed in one of your finer outfits, a long flowing white and blue dress that was quite unfit for the Coerthan colds, showing off your shoulders just enough of your bosom to still be called decent. Paired with your linen stockings and leaving the formal petticoat behind, it showed a scandalous amount of leg through a cut in the front, despite being largely floor-length and demure. You weren't worried that he would get too forward. He was too honorable, and you were never without your weapon. But you did want him to look. You _always_ wanted him to look.

 

And look he did. When he opened the door he smiled as if his dreams had come true, kissing your hand like a perfect gentleman and ushering you inside. He was stately as ever, dressed now in slightly more formal dress, black embroidered cloth instead of chain mail, complementing his muscular frame and making him look even more the warrior. His familiar shock of blue hair fell about his ears in that endearing, Fury-may-care way that pleased you so. His cerulean eyes wandered, but discreetly, respectfully, taking your arm in his and leading you through the antechamber towards the scent of a well-prepared meal. You had a tendency to punch people who treated you like a lady, but for just this once, you would forgive him. For just this once, you almost looked the part.

 

“Forgive me, my dear, but we have another guest. I should have told you, only I did not expect him to accept the invitation.” When he looked back at you, apologetic and—mischievous? You only cocked your head with confusion, waiting for him to explain. Had you misread his advances?

 

In answer, he only took your wrist in one hand, and laid the other lightly at your waist to guide you through the doorway.

 

There you stopped. Eyes wide but seeing nothing beyond the initial shock, uncomprehending, brain having shut down completely in overload.

 

Ser Aymeric was the other guest. He sat at the table with a bored expression on his face, as if he had not noticed your arrival, though he had surely heard you coming. He sat against a narrow, high-backed chair, gloved hands behind him, and... completely shirtless. It took you at least a minute to process this information, and only after that did you notice that he was chained to the chair, with heavy manacles of the sort that were used to bind the most dangerous of heretics. And he had the audacity to be sitting there, half-nude, head tipped backwards against the sturdy wood, and looking _bored_.

 

Your weapon was at the ready. You'd had far too many surprises of late, far too many terrible surprises, and you whipped your gaze about the room, looking for intruders. Finding none, you aimed your malice at Haurchefant, demanding answers with your eyes. You trusted him—even now, you did—but that could certainly change if his explanation weren't damn good.

 

He raised his hands placatingly, but it was Aymeric who spoke, looking at you as if he had only now noticed your arrival, now that you had become a threat. “Please, put the steel away,” he said coolly, his deep voice hinting nothing of distress or worry. “Neither of us shall fight you. I fear we should not survive the attempt.” It was the flattery that made its way past your guard, uncharacteristic enough to surprise you, make you reconsider.

 

Slowly you did as he bade, looking at him now more closely, looking for injury or some other sign of struggle, trying to check the thoughts that made your lower regions tingle. His black hair was a little messier than usual, still curling elegantly around his angular face. He didn't attempt to avoid your gaze with his delicately narrowed ice-blue eyes, though upon closer inspection he may have been blushing slightly, perhaps the greatest show of emotion you'd seen from the knight in your short time together. There were no cuts or bruises on his lean, muscular chest, only a long gold rosary with black beads looped twice around his neck, which you supposed he always wore under his armor. It seemed almost too personal for your unbelieving eyes, so you averted them instead to see his long fingerless gloves and black trousers were still intact, but that his feet were bare on the cold stone floor. That must have been no easy feat either, you thought, having had enough experience with thigh-length sabotons to last a lifetime. Either there had been a mighty struggle to remove them—and to what end? Or Aymeric had been complicit in the act. Either possibility filled you with a guilty excitement, though you were trying your best not to ogle the man.

 

“Okay,” you said at length, breaking your characteristic silence, and averting your eyes from the beautiful sight before you. If he wasn't going to have any shame, you were going to have to do it for him, despite or because of the way it seemed to be making your blood race. “What's going on?”

 

You were hoping for an answer from Lord Haurchefant, but the lord was leaning against the wall, content to let Aymeric do the talking. His gaze was... well, you had wanted him to look, after all, but you had at some point begun to feel like prey in his presence.

 

“My dear friend Lord Haurchefant had informed me that he had invited you to supper. Now, being a foreign adventurer and not familiar with our ways, you may be unaware but... he is a bit _mad_. I do not trust him alone with you, may though you be capable of defending yourself. He suggested I accompany you, to defend your honor, and I reluctantly accepted.” Aymeric narrated the events calmly, as if it was all a perfectly rational lead-up to being undressed and chained to a chair by a nobleman. “Though frankly, I think it would be best if you simply left. I thought he was mad, but I appear to have been wrong. He is _psychotic_.” Ah. That was more to the point.

 

Glancing to the apparent madman, you couldn't help but begin to agree. He was watching you both with polite amusement, as if the accusations were mere descriptions of the day's weather.

 

Resisting the urge to reach for your weapon again, you instead gestured to the knight. “You want me to leave you here? Like that?”

 

“I can take care of myself, I assure you. I am more concerned for you. While I am sure he cannot hurt you physically, I am not certain of what else he is capable,” he said darkly. Now this was getting ridiculous. Chivalry was all well and good, but you were no innocent maiden to be coddled and kept from the evils of men. You had half a mind to stay out of contempt for the idea.

 

Instead, you couldn't resist jab at him, perhaps too tempted by the compromising position in which you found him. “If you can take care of yourself, why are _you_ the one chained to the chair?”

 

Quietly, you thought you heard him swear under his breath. “Trickery.”

 

“Seduction,” countered Haurchefant immediately, finally stepping forward and placing his hand on the other man's shoulder, partially blocking your view. Aymeric tensed, flinching away from the hand that moved to caress his cheek, refusing now to meet your eyes. The lord moved violently and quickly then, lifting the bound man's chin with insistent force and crashing their lips together. Anger filled your vision. Your hand twitched, slowly moving towards your armaments, attempting keep the move from the lord's notice. There was simply no way you were going to leave Aymeric here, no matter how capable of defending himself he claimed to be.

 

But then, after a mere moment, before you even reached the comforting grip of your weapon, everything changed. Aymeric surrendered visibly to the kiss, a soft growl audible even from across the room. The sound was shocking, sinful and lusty, and you heard it more with your body than your ears. When Haurchefant pulled away from the knight and you could see him clearly again, he was blushing heavily, chest heaving slightly and drawing attention to his exposure. The room seemed to have warmed by several degrees in as many seconds, and when Aymeric looked back to you, you knew what you would do.

 

You could tell from his hot gaze that he wanted you to stay as much as you now did. Just perhaps, he was trying to protect you not from Haurchefant, but also himself. Calmly, as if you hadn't just witnessed the knight's defenses stripped bare before you, you walked forward and seated yourself at the small table beside him.

 

“Splendid, I knew you would agree to supper,” said Haurchefant as if everything were normal and dandy, clapping his hands delightedly and moving away to fetch whatever food was growing cold under the covered tray in the far corner.

 

You took the opportunity to lean closer to the knight, who was looking at you with guarded curiosity, apparently taken quite by surprise by your acquiescence. “Say the word and I will have you out of here. Understand?” You weren't quite expecting the vehemence with which you hissed the offer, turning it into more of a demand. Some part of you was afraid for him, afraid that he was too proud to ask for help.

 

He looked at a loss for a moment, as if you had challenged him to admit aloud that he wanted to be there, half-naked for you to see. Then he closed his eyes and nodded, looking resigned and almost defeated. “If it comes to that, I shall. Just... try not to hurt him. He means well.”

 

You had to admit, you weren't sure if you  _could_ hurt Haurchefant. The man was unpredictable, yes, but he'd never led you astray until now. You were fairly certain that you could avoid killing him if it came to that, and healing magic could work wonders. In the worst case, you could just break the sturdy chair to splinters and haul the knight away, with or without his cooperation. As the lord returned bearing plates and glasses, you slipped your hand under the table and set it on Aymeric's knee, squeezing lightly in reassurance. The knight's eyes widened, and you immediately realized the gesture was too forward, grabbing your hand back and wincing in apology. He was too damn vulnerable, and you reminded yourself to give him his space. Now he was watching you with nearly as much wariness as Haurchefant, as if you too had... no, best not think on it.

 

The table was set, the wine poured. Three plates were present, but only two sets of silverware, and you weren't sure how Aymeric was supposed to eat without the use of his hands. Lord Haurchefant seated himself directly across from you, with the knight held captive between you. You looked at your food dubiously, a cheesy popato gratin with chunks of stewed red meat that had smelled so appetizing some time before.

 

“It's not poisoned, if that's what you think,” said the lord, relishing his meal. You raised an eyebrow at him, prompting him to grin back at you. Sharp eyes narrowed predatorily for just a moment, then he lashed out with a fork to take a bite of your popoto. Finally, he snatched your wine glass to take a sip from it. “See, quite safe.” He offered back the glass, waiting until you raised your hand to take it. The cheeky man took the opportunity to brush his fingers against yours, and you, for your part, pretended not to notice it or the chill that danced down your spine in response.

 

Aymeric did notice. He was practically baring fangs at the other man, and seeming to prefer silence and having nothing else to do with his mouth, he continued to do that for several minutes. You tried to ignore him, eating in awkward silence, but the way his shoulders strained with tension was just distracting. He was too beautiful, too exposed, and your eyes kept moving between Haurchefant's fond glances and Aymeric's broad chest, wandering up the graceful arch of his throat and lingering on the side of his face, heat pooling unbidden between your legs. Finally the knight seemed to notice you, relaxing a little and sighing. And damn it all if he didn't look a little coy, a little embarrassed, as he settled back into the chair and attempted to school his expression once again into boredom.

 

“Have you resolved to let me go hungry?” The question was pointed at Haurchefant, leveled at him like a spear.

 

The lord darted out a tongue to caress the tines of his fork, gazing at Aymeric coquettishly. “I'd feed you, but then you would bite me. I intend to save the biting for later.”

 

You didn't think it was possible for him to be that shameless, all evidence to the contrary. Aymeric made a strangled sort of noise of indignation which tapered into a low growl. You weren't sure if it was anger or... something else, but it affected you all the same. You cleared your throat, suddenly anxious to break the tension between them. When Haurchefant looked back to you with a cheshire grin, you just scowled and waved your fork at him, as if to say, 'have you heard of these things? You are holding one right now, and they are very useful.'

 

“Oh, no, you misunderstand. He's not allowed cutlery,” he returned, as if forbidden silverware were a common affliction, like high blood-pressure or an arrow to the knee. “You're welcome to feed him though, he won't bite  _you_ . He's a beast, you see,” he said, his voice going deep and dark with implication. He reached out to touch the angry man's inner thigh, much higher than you had touched him, much closer to places you would never dare go unbidden. “You need only know how to tame him, and he is yours.”

 

Your hand shifted around the fork, turning it business-end down and curling into an instinctive martial grip, unconsciously preparing to stab the offending hand. With a fork! What class did that make you, an Epicurian? But when you looked down over the edge of the small table you immediately noticed that the attention was not unwanted. Aymeric had widened his legs, granting further access, and even seemed to be tipping his hips forward into the touch. His eyes were narrowed almost to closing, and his breathing had gone shallow and quick. You tried to keep your eyes away from the area, but you were sure he was quite aroused from the tight lump forming in his form-fitting trousers. You had never seen anything so dangerously erotic. You clasped to your free hand to your mouth, stifling whatever exclamation you were sure was coming, but your muffled gasp was still enough to draw Haurchefant's attention. His sideways grin was sultry and wicked and hungry, and it suddenly didn't scare you anymore... at least not in the same way.

 

“Well,” he said, “are you going to feed him, or let him suffer?”

 

Suffering seemed to be on the menu either way, but you supposed that you could ease it a trice, even if your mind screamed at the irrationality of the decision. You needed confirmation, though. You waited until the knight met your gaze side-long, distracted and smoldering, shy but wanton, still leaning into the madman's hand. “Say the word,” you said softly, reminding him of his promise.

 

His eyes unfocused for a moment, apparently thinking, though on what you knew not. Finally he responded, “I won't bite you...” he began, then trailed off into a breathy whisper. “Unless you want me to.” He bowed his head in either embarrassment or submission, then moaned quietly, and you were so shocked and aroused you almost didn't notice Haurchefant had slid off his chair to kneel at the knight's side, sliding his hand further inward to caress Aymeric's groin directly. Oh hells, you thought. Oh bloody hells.

 

You watched him for a few moments, cheeks flaming at the wanton display, listening to his quiet gasps and watching his head dip and sway, nose just visible from beneath his dark hair. Finally, more because you didn't know what else to do to ease the tension than any other reason, you stretched out your arm to take a piece of meat from his plate. The motion caught his attention and he looked at you, eyes dilated and slightly unfocused, lips parted and needy. Things were already out of control the moment you had entered the room, but this was just... technically, you knew, you could stop the whole thing at any time, but you were afraid that you wouldn't now unless one of them did first. Hand shaking only a little, you lifted the morsel to his lips, and he accepted it, tongue enveloping your fingers and drawing them into his wet mouth, licking them clean before leaning back to chew, eyes closed.

 

“Very good,” the lord murmured at his side, stroking him a little more vigorously and prompting him to rumble appreciatively. “I think the beast has earned a reward.” He pulled his chair closer to the other man so that he could sit at his level, and took a mouthful of the knight's wine. Then he leaned forward, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and kissing him carefully. His other hand returned to the front of the man's trousers and he pressed firmly with his palm, and Aymeric opened his mouth to him with a whimper, a line of red trailing from his chin as he accepted the wine. When he had finished, Haurchefant lapped up the stray drink with his tongue, and you realized you were staring again only when his eyes met yours with that glimmer of mischief, his smirk so satisfied you wish you could knock it straight off of him.

 

“You're so beautiful when you want to kill something,” he said, voice lower in pitch than usual but still expansive with admiration.

 

Part of you demanded to challenge him, wondering why, if he liked  _you_ so much, he was torturing your mutual friend, but the other had already given up to the irrationality, causing you to sink back into your chair and bury your face behind your hand. You had given Aymeric plenty of opportunity to object, and while the situation was still bothering you somehow, you suspected ending it for his sake and slinging him over your shoulder like a princess in distress would embarrass him more. And gods, you were attracted to him. Both of them, though your annoyance with Lord Haurchefant was currently warring with your earlier plans with him.

 

But why would you be annoyed with him, when Aymeric had so clearly told you he didn't want you to end it? Could it be that this was merely a game, and that the knight had wanted it from the beginning? He had seemed to react most negatively when Haurchefant had made advances on _you_ , after all.

 

Yes, that was it, you realized, the insight like the blinding blast of a Holy spell. You had mistaken his discomfort and the unusual way he had been restrained for a lack of consent. But he was only concerned for yours. He had said as much.

 

And Lord Haurchefant, blessed, stupid Haurchefant, just wanted the both of you to enjoy yourselves, perhaps never considering the strangeness of the whole affair, probably not even having planned a thing. Mad as a hatter, and twice as unpredictable.

 

When it was over, you resolved, you would find out who had initiated it. But for now, you needed only one final confirmation to ease your worry for good.

 

“You remember your promise,” you said to Aymeric meaningfully. Both men were watching you carefully now, though Haurchefant had never stopped nuzzling and nipping at the knight's throat, hand sweeping vague oblong shapes on the man's exposed thigh.

 

The holy knight seemed to consider the question and the reasoning behind it fully. He looked annoyed for a moment, then smiled, a wide narrow grin, thin and sharp like the blade of a knife. “Everything is fine unless I say otherwise. I swear it.” He met your eyes with calm certainty, and you knew, yes, you had been worried over nothing.

 

The blue-haired man purred in approval, tongue lapping out wickedly to caress the point of the knight's ear, sucking it into his mouth and nipping visibly with bared teeth. Aymeric answered with a full-throated moan, leaning his head back against the chair helplessly. That was all you needed. Quietly, you slid back your chair and gripped the table's edge, dragging it backwards a yalm and being careful not to ruin the food. It still made more noise than you intended, but fortunately the lord was single-minded in his ministrations. His hand had wandered inwards again, distracting and kneading, but he removed it readily enough when you approached to climb into the knight's lap. The silly opening in the front of your dress was for once useful, allowing you to straddle him easily, long skirt trailing over his legs.

 

He opened his eyes curiously, but kept them half-lidded in contentment. He gave no objection to your closeness, only leaning forward to kiss you eagerly, chains rattling behind him against his confinement. His lips tasted like wine, which was utterly cliché but quite literally true. It numbed your tongue and faded to an edge of dark sweetness, and you decided that it fit him quite well. You gripped the back of the chair securely and slid forward, wrapping your legs around his waist as far as the chair would allow and pressing yourself against his clothed cock, pleased at the warmth that greeted you through thin panties. He pushed forward against you, opening his mouth to you and tasting you in turn, cautious but eager and sighing in contentment.

 

The chair beside you shifted, and Haurchefant was beside you, kissing your neck as you explored the knight with tongue and hands. He wrapped an arm around your back that you hadn't realized you were missing and slowly dragged the other hand from your hip to your chest, just as cautious of your limits as you had been of Aymeric's. You felt guilty for having doubted him. He was mad, but not cruel. Not without permission, anyhow. When his hand reached your breast he cupped the underside gently, first only with his fingertips and then gathering it in his palm, squeezing gently and then more boldly as you pressed into his hand. You wiggled your hips in agreement, pressing lewdly against the man below you, twisting slightly to twitch your clitoris against the hard body between your legs. The sensation was always slightly overwhelming even if the pleasure wasn't, not yet, but you sighed against him and his own hips bucked in return, and you wondered just how long it would take to drive him mad without removing any additional clothing.

 

As if pondering the same idea, the lord murmured into your neck with a voice stained with restrained need. “This would likely be easier in the bedroom, if that's what you want.” His hands were still confined to gentle caresses, and you realized he needed encouragement from you, too. You leaned away from Aymeric and, still grinding against him in gentle, shuddering motions, you threaded your fingers into hair the color of the clear sky and pulled Haurchefant into a slow kiss. It was the knight who groaned appreciatively at the sight, thrusting harder against you and sealing your agreement.

 

You relaxed into the lord's arms, pleased that he held you securely anchored against the knight, and allowed him to take his time with the kiss. It wasn't in your nature to be coy, but the tenderness of his embrace and the caution with which he moved against you was beautiful, charged with emotion. He loved you, you were sure of it now, and the thought was both frightening and gratifying. When at length his tongue traced your lips, gently as if he wasn't sure he wanted more, you took your time opening to him as well. The sound he made when he met your tongue with his was halfway between a moan and a sigh, deep but breathy and oh so content. It made you tingle, not with pleasure but with an innocent joy. The shudder following that, that was pleasure, Aymeric's insistent cock brushing against you in that special way, sensation sharp like a snapping rubber-band.

 

You separated from the kiss only reluctantly, feeling you could get lost in it for days. You smiled shyly at him, but nodded with enthusiasm. It was what you had accepted the invitation for, after all. You looked to Aymeric for confirmation, and his rakish grin spoke volumes, promises glittering in his icy blue eyes.

 

The night was young.


	2. Let's All Move...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then... the feels attacked.

Haurchefant looked positively overwhelmed by your non-verbal agreement, and for a moment he could do nothing but hug you tightly, murmuring sweet nonsense into your ear. Your mind was filled briefly with vague visions of marmalade and strawberry cream, dancing moogles and unicorns. You interrupted to run your hands down his back and across his stomach to remind him that there was more on the to-do list than faery-tales. He pulled away to look at you sheepishly, and you gave him affectionate peck on the tip of his nose.

 

He smiled, full of the warmth and joy that he always seemed to have when he was with you.

 

Ser Aymeric cleared this throat. He was staring at you both in not a little irritation, which was a bit intimidating as you were sitting in his lap. “Are you just going to leave me here while you run off to your _assignation_? Perhaps you mean to torture me to death with your sweet sighs?” He rattled the chains behind his back restlessly for emphasis, and you were sure that even his playful pout was sexy, especially when the corner of his mouth turned up into a foxy grin at the last moment, as if he quite liked the idea after all. You couldn't help but give his clothed hips a little squeeze with your legs, which he answered by pressing firmly against your warmth and making a pleased little rumble. Nonetheless, he remained un-distracted, narrow eyes accusing Haurchefant with predatory fascination that could have been mistaken for malice.

 

“Do I have your assurances you'll behave?” came the teasing answer. The lord stood from his chair by your hip to move behind you, arms about you possessively, returning the glare with grim amusement. He leaned over and laid his chin on your head, pressing your shoulders to him but restraining himself from further contact until you remembered you had to encourage him. You arched your back against him, a slow languid stretch, and he stiffened to feel your spine against his groin. Stiffened everywhere, from what you could feel, arms tightening around your chest in surprise and stilling his hips, as if afraid of his growing erection. You were sure the look on his face must have been priceless, and wished dearly that you could see it.

 

Only Haurchefant could have engaged in such vulgarity so openly but been nervous of you touching him, sight-unseen, through multiple layers of clothing. He was positively daft. Aymeric seemed to agree, glare dissolving into a warm chuckle, tinged with desire.

 

“If you release me, I promise not to kill you,” he returned with an easy grin. “In fact,” he said with slightly more seriousness, “I'll leave if you want.” He seemed less sure at the last statement, embarrassment creeping back into his posture and coloring his face, as if his predatory self-assurance were an act for your benefit.

 

That seemed to break Haurchefant from his indecision. “I never told you you could _leave_ ,” he growled, naked aggression in stark contrast to his gentle treatment of you. He released you in favor of darting forward to collar the knight's throat roughly, the other hand winding around his jaw. You didn't get to see the kiss, finding yourself pressed forward between them, where you contented yourself with stroking the firm body arching towards you and feeling the shuddering of Aymeric's lungs beneath your ear. Pushed against his chest you could hear his every reaction, deep needy growls mixed with the tiniest of high-pitched whimpers, sounds so soft you could only have heard them this way.

 

Finally the lord took pity on him. He drew his hands gently down your sides, as if he could not bear to part contact with you for so long, then wound his way behind the chair. You heard metal clink against metal, and then Aymeric pulled one arm forward roughly, eyes glued to the other man and exposing his throat to your gaze. Haurchefant still held him back, chain wrapped around his wrists, and he pulled the captive arm into his embrace to massage it tenderly. His expression had a strange softness, and the knight relaxed to allow the ministration, hooded eyes watching him guardedly.

 

You had to kiss that vulnerable neck, nudging aside the cool rosary beads to make room for your searching lips. Quickly his gloved arm lashed out to wrap around your waist, pressing you against him and giving him license and leverage to move against you repeatedly, biting and growling at your ear. You could feel him dragging along the length of your labia in quick, stuttering movements, making space for him behind the thin fabric of your smallclothes as if your body were unaware of the barrier, ever impatient to receive him. Occasionally an erratic thrust brought him again into tight friction with your clitoris, accelerating the wetness accumulating between your legs and soaking a tiny bit into the man's trousers. Somehow the wild activity distracted you from his throat for long enough to snare you in another bruising kiss, and you had the brief impression that he was dominating you completely, despite him being the one restrained in irons.

 

“I told you he was a beast,” you heard Haurchefant say from somewhere beside the chair, growling subtly with desire as he watched the display. “Though, I am sorry to say my dear, that you had best stand back. It will take some effort to control him. I promise you can play with him more once he's secure again.” The last was murmured against your neck, though he moved away quickly when Aymeric broke from your lips to snarl at him, baring his teeth in imitation of a wolf though he lacked the fangs. In response the lord grinned like a child with a nameday present, tugging again on the short chain and gently persuading the holy knight to release you.

 

Reluctantly you pushed away from him, noting with pleasure now the prominent bulge in his pants as you stood and backed away a few paces and leaned against the table. Aymeric was regarding you coolly, with a sparkle of dark mischief in his icy gaze. You knew logically that there was nothing to fear from him, but the savagery he displayed was electric, making you hold your breath nervously in anticipation. Haurchefant knelt again, smirking with self-satisfaction, to release the second bolt.

 

Immediately the knight charged forward, the hound after the hare.

 

He made it less than a yalm before he was stopped abruptly, head snapping painfully backwards from a hand gripping in his hair, his arms still held securely by the chains in Haurchefant's hands. As promised, he had been ready. Quickly he closed the distance between them and yanked hard on the man's scalp, exposing his throat for him to bite. Aymeric stopped struggling then, dropping his head further back in pleasure and making a noise somewhere between a growl and a purr. Haurchefant relaxed the bite after a long moment, tongue lapping flat against his skin to soothe, then pressing a few tender kisses against the long throat. The bite wasn't vicious enough to draw blood, but it left an angry red crescent mark, bright with the promise of pain and possession.

 

Chains still held securely around one of his wrists, his other hand moved to the back of the knight's neck, where it tangled into the rosary beads and caused the short loops to constrict around his throat like a tight collar. Aymeric stiffened then, standing taller, eyes wide and unfocused as if the move had shocked him completely. Whatever license allowed him to behave with such wanton abandon evidently stopped at the rosary, the physical boundary between the sacred and the sinful.

 

“You will behave,” Haurchefant spoke coldly into his ear. There was no volume to it, a statement that carried enough authority that those he commanded would strain to listen.

 

You actually wondered if Aymeric would object then. You could almost see him considering it, as he held icily still, letting only his eyes wander first to you, then to the side where Haurchefant lingered just out of his sight. But the moment quickly passed, the knight closing his eyes and dropping his head in a submissive stance. Miraculously, the tension and fear seemed to drain from his shoulders. He nodded silently. He would behave.

 

You wondered if Haurchefant would demand a verbal agreement from the broken knight, a wicked malice still glittering in his too-blue eyes. Instead, he pressed his lips to Aymeric's neck softly, a single kiss that made the man shudder with some kind of emotion. “Very good,” the lord murmured, his voice low and dark. “This way, pet.” He gave enough of a shove to make the knight look slightly unsteady and bewildered, but was overall patient and cautious as he guided Aymeric towards the bedroom with his hand still looped tightly in the string of beads. You followed dumbly after, feeling as if you were having some manner of out-of-body experience.

 

When you reached the doorway you stopped to observe, feeling a little out of place. It was a small room, the apartment being as efficient as the rest of the castle, built for tactics over comfort. The bed was the main piece of furniture, taking up most of the room, large enough for two without seeming ostentatious, soft and cozy with a thick rolanberry duvet. Worn wooden posts at each corner of the frame gave it a sturdy look, as if the walls could crumble around it and its occupants would still sleep soundly. The rest of the chamber was sparsely decorated, the lone splash of color aside from the bedspread coming from the royal blue fabric pooled against one wall. Apparently this was where Aymeric's clothing had gone off to, heaped next to an upended chair and a plant that required a new pot. You nudged into the room with care, silencing your steps as if you were interrupting a mass instead of a seduction. You leaned against a wall with a view to the side of the bed, where the two men were preoccupied.

 

Haurchefant had released his grip enough enough to turn the knight around and sit him on the soft mattress, while still holding the rosary from the front. He no longer held the chains, allowing the taller man to move and relax with his hands behind him on the bed. He was secure enough in his control now, idly stroking the underside of Aymeric's chin with his forefinger. The knight was looking back up at him with an unfocused air of affection, eyelids heavy, almost enraptured.

 

Not for the first time you wondered if they had done this before. But neither possibility seemed to make any sense. Haurchefant was entirely too forward, and Aymeric too willing for it to be as sudden as he had hinted, but the reactions the knight gave at each fresh advance seemed spontaneous, shocked and pleased as if he had never imagined he could enjoy such a thing.

 

It was a mystery, and it was beautiful. It was almost a shame that you were there to interfere, but there wasn't a primal strong enough to make you leave without their request.

 

A small kiss on the knight's lips ended the tender moment. The lord grabbed a few cushions near at hand to pile them at the head of the bed. Then Haurchefant pushed him firmly to recline against the pile, the hand at his neck wrapping around his throat with fingers still threaded into the rosary. You heard a small sound of discomfort, brief and shallow as if Aymeric were having difficulty moving much air through his lungs, but he betrayed no visual distress. He merely relaxed against the pillows, sinking a little into the plush comforter, watching his captor impassively.

 

It shouldn't have surprised you with how much ease Haurchefant affixed one chain to his bedpost, giving you another piece of sturdy furniture to destroy should you feel the need to rescue him. But there it was, another odd piece of a most bizarre puzzle. Aymeric's arm bent comfortably to his side, open palm level with his head, leaving him pinned but with room to relax. The lord took his time running his hand down the knight's elegantly gloved arm, then he climbed over him to straddle his chest. He curled both hands around the long throat, and paused meaningfully, sharing a look with the man below him and seemingly unaware of you or aught else.

 

And then the moment ended, and there was a flurry of motion. Haurchefant released the beads with both hands and sprang for Aymeric's free wrist, but whatever agreement they had had was gone, flown along with propriety and decency and good sense. The knight resisted, flailed and bucked under his captor, and for a moment you were afraid that they would be injured, violence foretold by the small circular bruises forming around the prone man's neck. But you needn't have worried. It was only a moment before Haurchefant regained the upper hand, pinning the wayward wrist against a cushion. He crouched over his victim, and once again shocked you by grinding his pelvis against the man below him. The lewdness of the action could be heard in both of their voices, the lord's soft moan blending into the coarse gasp that tumbled from Aymeric's lips, signaling once again that their combat was play, and that their play was serious indeed.

 

There was another clink of metal against iron and wood. When they parted, mere moments having passed, the other arm had been properly secured. A flush of exertion colored Aymeric's cheeks, though he had becalmed his breathing. His gloved arms spread out like a pair of black angel's wings, his long bare fingers forming delicate feathers, and you were starkly reminded of the beauty beneath his savage demeanor. He seemed to sense your eyes on him now, turning to you and giving you a coy glance, blush deepening slightly.

 

His eyes didn't remain long with you, being quite distracted by the blue-haired demon astride him. Apparently a subtle roll of the lord's hips had translated into something quite pleasurable, because Aymeric's eyes fell closed and his mouth dropped open in a silent plea for more. It was granted, and the knight lifted his hips to return the gesture, a sharp buck that pushed Haurchefant backwards and briefly revealed his face from beneath the shower of his tussled hair. It was nothing like how he looked at you, eyes sharpened to deadly slits and teeth showing beneath his lips, and it made you shiver. Nonetheless, the sound that accompanied it soon after was pure enjoyment, a long rumbling sigh as he leaned back and pulled at Aymeric's belt.

 

The knight made a noise of protest, almost an indignant squawk. No longer sinking into the pillows, broad shoulders had tensed slightly and his eyes were focused now with precision, no longer hazy with lust. Neither did he look quite as relaxed, though you noted he was far from panicking, still flushed and a little wanton, a little this side of sinful. Haurchefant slowed his movements, scooting backwards a few ilms to stroke Aymeric with his hands, through the other man's trousers and over his flat stomach.

 

When Haurchefant spoke, it was quietly enough that you weren't sure you'd been intended to hear. “Does my pet object? I thought he wanted his _reward_.” He kept his fingers moving, but ignored the knight's belt to wait for his reply.

 

To your surprise, Aymeric only looked to you questioningly. It seemed it was meeting your eyes that made him blush, a touch of color returning to him. “My lady...” His voice was like fine sand beneath your fingers, soft and warm and inviting, even as it shifted beneath your touch.

 

Of course. He was worried for your _virtue_ , once again. Unbidden, your hand covered your mouth and you giggled at the ludicrous thought, causing him to flush even more deeply and turn away in embarrassment. It was a far cry from his aggression earlier and you wondered if this was his more natural demeanor, and if so, just whom he was attempting to fool.

 

Of course, Haurchefant had followed Aymeric's attention to you, understanding that it was you who held the permission he sought. He was the picture of innocence now, smiling sweetly, only a single raised brow and perhaps the location of his hands revealing the mischief he planned to work. They rested lightly on the knight's hips, and occasionally stroked the length of the man's erection with his thumb.

 

You nodded, trying to ignore the warm prickle of your own cheeks. You had no shyness of your own, but seeing them together, _that_ was truly a sinful delight. But it was what the two of them seemed to want, after all. You were perfectly willing to come along for the ride.

 

That was all that was needed. Haurchefant let his smile unfold slowly, a long scroll writ with evil deeds culminating in the emergence of the tip of his tongue. He was quickly back at his task, unbuckling the heavy belt as Aymeric watched him with stilled breath. Next came a series of buttons, and then the lord was scooting backwards and pulling the trousers with him, smallclothes and all. The prone knight lifted his hips to assist, an ordinary movement rendered into art, revealing more pale skin than you had ever imagined and making you burn hot all over. He wasn't just giving himself to Haurchefant, you realized. He had asked your permission. He was giving himself to _you_.

 

You weren't sure what to do with him other than look. He was lying limply against the cushions now, embarrassment or something else keeping his eyes closed and skin flush. Aymeric was always beautiful, but now he was otherworldly, wreathed in chains and laid out for your eyes. You let yourself look at him properly, taking in the long legs that parted around Haurchefant's crouching form, leading to a shapely ass and the sinful weapon between his legs. He was at least half-hard now, more long than thick but seeming to grow beneath your gaze, encouraged by the other man who was running soothing circles on his sides and pressing soft kisses along his stomach.

 

It was plain to see they wanted more of each other, given the chance. As if to confirm, the mad lord made a sweeping movement downward, moving back to focus on Aymeric's groin. He turned to the side enough to meet your eyes with the corner of his, winking with amusement, and lapped out with his tongue to lick a long wet stripe up the underside of the knight's shaft. Aymeric tensed and shook his chains, responding with a long gurgling moan and trying to wiggle away from the lord's tongue. Trying and failing completely.

 

When he opened his eyes, panting and flushed, it was to look at you. He was naked and wanting, and you suddenly felt guilty for just watching the show, no matter how entertaining.

 

But Haurchefant's attention was also on you. And so were his hands. He had closed the distance between you like a stalking panther, nearly leaping from the bed and pacing the floor with two long strides. His hands though, they were gentle as always, cupping the slight curve below your rear and tracing upwards as if he were afraid his touch would bruise. You met his eyes and they glittered with warm mischief, the way they had ever since your first adventure with him. You mirrored his tiny, soft smile with your own, and grasped his hands at your side. Gentle, but firm. He stilled obediently, awaiting your command, lips parting involuntarily and turning him into the picture of anxious anticipation.

 

Seeing his face then, there was no question that you wanted him. And you knew he would respond in kind.

 

You wouldn't make him wait any longer. You bent one leg around his and guided his hands under the slit in your dress, placing his palms on either side of your bare thigh. Ilms away lay skin sticky with your own fluids, bestirred by the man who was currently watching you from the bed with parted lips and hazy eyes. You thought at first that Haurchefant would be so overwhelmed as to kiss you, but he just fluttered his lashes in wonder and watched as you guided his hands upwards. Together you pushed aside the creamy fabric to reveal your white panties. White for innocence, rendered a lie before they were even seen. You replaced his fingers on your opposite hip and motioned for him to keep going, certain that he needed your urging as much as he needed you.

 

He did. His touch was softer than the vanya silk moving against your skin as he brushed up your back and pulled the dress over your head. He draped it carefully over the discarded chair, and when he turned his gaze back upon you it was with an expression of awe and reverence you would have supposed reserved for his goddess. Reluctantly he tore his eyes from yours to wander your body, as if he required permission. When you unhooked the thin wrap covering your breasts to reveal them to his eyes, it was to remind him that it was granted.

 

Haurchefant exhaled a note of surprise, a breathy gasp that quickly choked to nothing as he gathered you in his arms. His embrace came in stages, first encircling you and only then slowly constricting to a firm hold, ever treating you as fragile though you could break him without a thought. Finally he allowed himself a kiss, heady with desire but with a touch of innocence. He would be good to you, he promised with his lips. He would light you on fire, he demonstrated with his tongue. Though you could not taste it, you could almost _feel_ the sensation of Aymeric's skin against his tongue, thrilled by the knowledge of what you had witnessed moments ago.

 

You allowed him to make whatever statements he wanted, loving his attention and glad that he was beginning to abandon his shyness. On the other hand, he was wearing far too much. You stroked down his back to reach your fingers beneath his elegant tabard, and he didn't flinch when you circled to his warm stomach. It was hard like Aymeric's, though Haurchefant was not as lean and lithe. With a shrug of your shoulders you lifted your arms to push his shirt slowly upwards and away, pleased with the strength that lay beneath as he was revealed to the light.

 

The lord blushed adorably under your gaze, but didn't hide from you. Not even when you pressed your hand to his groin and his eyes slid to sleepy slits, a puff of air escaping his lips with a soft, abrupt gasp. He was already quite erect, but you could feel him hardening further beneath your palm, and you encouraged him with a firm squeeze. You weren't sure which was the act, his shyness with you or his dominance of his 'pet.' You weren't sure if you wanted him to abandon either, only that you wanted him.

 

And again, you reminded him of the fact, pulling him closer and drawing his hips to yours. He seemed to be searching your eyes for something, an odd war taking place just beyond his vision, deep in the recesses of his mind. This time you kissed him, and guided his hands to your chest for good measure. You felt his fingers twitch against your skin before he relaxed and cupped a breast in each hand, letting his palms slide slowly against them as he stretched to feel every ilm. He found your nipples with his thumbs after only a moment of hesitation, already a little stiff in the slightly chill air but soon hard and sensitive from his exploration. You sighed into his mouth in encouragement, making him press against you with his hips, and you wondered how much longer you could endure the foreplay.

 

You wanted him, and you wanted him to know you wanted him. You lifted your leg to wrap around his hip, drawing back from the wet kiss to give him a scalding look. “Stop holding back,” you told him quietly, your voice smooth and dark like melted chocolate. He had apparently perfected the art of astonishment, eyes wandering from your gaze to your bruised lips and fluttering his lashes in wonder. His breath seemed to catch in his throat for a long moment, like a firefly in a jar. And then his arms moved to encircle you again, pulling you close and lifting, allowing you to grab him between your thighs and cling to him with your arms about his neck.

 

There was a swirl of motion, dizziness following you like milk swirling into a cup of coffee, and then you were on the bed. The duvet was soft, but your pillow was warm and firm. You heard a soft hum that reverberated beneath your head and emerged to your left, confirming that you lay on Aymeric's stomach. He was staring down at you a little wonderingly, though you hardly thought he should be surprised. Perhaps it was simply anticipation. Yes, you planned to give him everything he wanted, and you tried to show it with a knowing smile and smoldering glance. He had the decency to blush and turn away from you again, though he couldn't hide the corner of his mouth worming into a shy grin.

 

Of course, you hadn't forgotten what else you lay in reach of, but first you needed to deal with Haurchefant. The lord was fighting with the buttons on your dress shoes, making blood flow into your ankles as he slowly unbound them and tossed the offending articles to the ground. You briefly imagined the face Redolent Rose would make at the gesture, and you didn't care; they were in the way and they had to go. You wiggled your hips impatiently, reaching with your hands to deal with the unpleasant barrier of your remaining clothing. But no, Haurchefant put his hands over yours to still them, leaving your panties askew but otherwise in place, and went to work on the clasps holding up your stockings. Then he gripped the edge of one stocking and slowly pulled it down the length of your leg, bending it up towards his shoulder as he went. He seemed use this as an excuse to touch every ilm, with fingers and occasionally lips, and this was just fine. Until he got back to your feet. He kept hold of your ankle as he dropped the gathered material, and then turned his attention to your bare foot with a smirk.

 

You weren't sure you liked that smirk.

 

Oh, who were you kidding? You _loved_ that smirk.

 

Even if it meant he would do what he was doing now, which was kissing the sensitive sole of your foot. It was too much sensation, too strange, too personal and perhaps too dirty. You wiggled a bit, grimacing to indicate he should stop, but that just made him glance to you in disbelief, as if you were telling him not to eat a cookie that you had yourself placed in his grasp. With the air of one who knew precisely what rules he was breaking, he brought up both hands to hold you still, and then quickly drew several toes into his mouth.

 

You were not proud of having done it, but you shrieked. You just barely managed not to kick him in the jaw as you wrestled your foot away from him, the wet sensation having traveled down your leg and rebounded across your body in ways you weren't quite pleased with.

 

“You said not to hold back, sweetness!” He was pretending to look contrite, which did not look contrite at all. You just blushed and poked him in the temple with your big toe, and he gave a more convincing act of taking it as a punishment, putting up his hands and ducking away as though slapped, though he laughed. “Fine, you can have your precious _feet_. I'll just have to eat something else.” The last line was delivered with the sort of relish you'd only heard when he had spoken to Aymeric, and you thought perhaps you were finally getting somewhere.

 

The rumble beneath your head suggested that the knight agreed. Or possibly that he was annoyed at not having gotten to eat much of his dinner.

 

Speaking of eating. Content in the knowledge that Haurchefant no longer required supervision in order to express his ardor, you had your own task to attend to. You turned your head to the left, which was not the direction you were busy thinking about, but you needed to see Aymeric's reactions just now. He met your eyes easily, amusement still dancing behind his own though it was soon replaced with a question. You felt your other stocking slowly being removed, the feathery touch of fine linen followed by a path of ladybug kisses, and you shivered at the sensation but otherwise ignored it. Instead you lifted an eyebrow at the naked knight, and spread your right arm behind you until you met his leg.

 

Aymeric flinched at the contact, but soon recovered, letting his lips part slightly as your hand traced closer to where your head lay. You wanted to look, but it was more fun like this: letting his eyes follow you, his apprehension and excitement increasing and communicating how close you were to your goal.

 

When your fingers finally found his cock, you knew just a moment before, because he turned away at the last second with a dark blush. Then you felt hot steel wrapped in silk, and he threw his head back and gasped, almost a lusty bark of pleasure.

 

At that moment, you too gave a little shriek, though it was more out of surprise. Haurchefant's clever fingers had wound beneath the band of your smallclothes, and were moving against you so slowly as to almost seem frozen in time. But they were moving, pressing so painfully near your clitoral hood, wet and intense but indirect enough for you to want far more. His other hand did the work of removing your panties, sliding them down your thigh to your knees where you wiggled and kicked until they had slid free, trusting his warrior's instinct to dodge your flailing feet.

 

If the wiggling encouraged the subtle motions of the man's hand, neither of you felt the need to object. Instead you threw each of them one final glance, Aymeric watching you almost guiltily through half-closed eyes, Haurchefant seeming to drink in the sight of you as he knelt between your legs and kissed your inner thighs. And then you turned away from them both, to the warm cock in your hand, and let your tongue taste whatever it willed.

 

It was too much to process. As your tongue reached out to stroke the head of the knight's penis, you simultaneously felt a similar sensation between your legs. Wet, hot, and incredibly soft. You tried to gasp, tried to suck more air into your lungs, but the space was taken up by Aymeric, and so you breathed him instead. You drew him into your mouth far enough to taste, running your tongue around the ridge of his glans, mapping out the shape and texture and tasting every ilm. By his reactions he seemed to feel much the same as you, a fluttering and twitching of his stomach as he groaned speaking of just how much he was attempting to hold back his pleasure. Yes, that was how Haurchefant was making you feel, as well, because his tongue had found your clitoris and did not seem inclined to let it go. He was lapping at you with broad movements, slow but terrifyingly direct, soft but electric. His fingers had moved to trace along your vulva, parting your labia and teasing gently with his fingertips. His other hand held your left thigh secure to his shoulder, ensuring that no matter how intense the stimulation became or how tempting Aymeric's delight, you could not wiggle away from his hold.

 

In truth, you could not begin to want to. It felt strange to allow somehow, even if he obviously wanted it. You were no maiden, but you felt almost as if _he_ were, too innocent and noble to be corrupted by your wanton wiles. Of course that was ridiculous, especially as the way he moved spoke of long experience, and the way he commanded Aymeric suggested even more sinful delights. You paused in your torturous exploration of the knight, gratified by the wet gasp he emitted as you released him to run your tongue lazily along his shaft, and guiltily you looked down to simply watch. Haurchefant seemed to be in heaven, though in reality it was merely between your legs. He didn't seem to be afraid to get dirty. Rather the contrary, he had moved closer to kiss you, enveloping the sensitive area completely in his hot mouth and stroking the entire region erratically with his tongue. His drooping eyelids sang of his own pleasure, overcome with focus. But after a moment, he did notice you, eyelashes beating like the wings of a butterfly as he regarded you in mild surprise, then coy amusement.

 

It was then that his fingers began to slide home. With trembling caution, he explored your inner recesses with just the tips of his fingers, first one and then two, swirling around the sensitive entrance and teasing your inner labia with gentle, wet sliding. All of it, wet, with your own fluids, and with his saliva. It was heavenly and sinful all at once, but it tilted toward the sublime as his fingers slowly burrowed deeper, pushing forward and pulling back, then a little farther forward again. The motion against your clit was unrelenting, though, the rhythmic stimulation coloring your entire lower body in a warm bath of pleasure, giving the searching of his fingers dramatic context and painting every movement with desire for more. Oh, you could hardly wait to feel him inside you instead, cautiously delving deeper just like that, his eyelids drooping not just from the thought, but the sensation.

 

But just now you were being incredibly selfish. Aymeric was panting in short gasps, as you hadn't let up with the light stroking of your hand and tongue, but it was not nearly what he deserved from you. A quick glance in his direction, though, showed that he was not disappointed. His eyes seemed locked on Haurchefant's ministrations rather than yours, only breaking away to look at you once he felt your eyes upon him. The blush seemed to have become permanent, a sign now not of embarrassment but heavy arousal, and he didn't hide from your sight. He merely breathed a sigh through a mouth parted to pleasure and longing, urging you on without words.

 

You would have felt overcome at the sight even if Haurchefant's tongue hadn't been so skilled, but as it was, you could not help laying your head back against the welcoming skin beneath you and moaning openly, warm and triumphant, no longer able to contain the sounds that had thus far been trapped within your throat and breast. You could hear Haurchefant's approval then, feel it pulsing through his tongue and the grounding rod of your clit, now swollen enough for him to access directly. He attacked it greedily, making your desire continue to grow, making you clench around his deeply stroking fingers, making you need... more.

 

You found it quickly, rolling to the side in a violent motion and taking Aymeric deep into your mouth, urging him forward with a guiding hand and a frenzied tongue. The knight made an incoherent noise of pleasure, a shout of surprise merging with a gurgling sort of moan that tried in vain to become a string of words. You couldn't tell if he was urging you to stop or press onward, but the lusty pitch of his voice was clear enough. You relaxed your jaw and widened it to accommodate him, your tongue abandoning the precise swirl around the sensitive head to instead undulate and lap along the side of his shaft, stretching and searching. You wanted him deep inside you, and the jerk of his hips as he mumbled incoherently indicated his ready agreement, giving way to an exultant moan when you drew back and then plunged forward again. You were consuming him over and over, like the temptation of Tantalus in reverse. It was heaven, in a way. A heaven with sin as its reward.

 

It should not have come as a surprise how quickly pleasure had built in you, feeding off the sensations in your mouth and your ears as surely as that between your legs. But somehow it did, Haurchefant having doggedly held on to your thigh with an iron grip, keeping you from twisting away from him completely even as you writhed to attack the knight beneath you. It would have simplified your job immensely if you could simply flop over, and you considered briefly that Haurchefant would likely find just as much pleasure in the view of your ass wiggling in his face, but the gentle probing of those fingers held you back. The way they crooked just so to rub against your vaginal wall, seeming to connect with the liquid fire spreading through your clitoris and deep into your body, you could not give that up even if it meant twice the effort in pleasing the knight.

 

And please him you would, regardless of the trouble. It was your quest now, superseding all else, even the tingling that was spreading through you and making you hot and wanting. If anything, that only spurred you on, made you more single-minded in accomplishing your task.

 

Aymeric's encouragement may also have played a role. He was beyond reason now, reduced to a mess of carnal need faster than you had thought possible for such a stoic, self-possessed man. His vain attempts at forming words had died completely, giving way to deep, rhythmic breaths that carried whispers of pleasure and longing to the surface with every exhale. You could hear it submerged beneath as well, hints of moans and growls that were buried so deep that they resonated throughout his body like the wooden box of a stringed instrument, low and sonorous and more echo than sound. He was making no effort to control himself now, rather he seemed to be grasping for something. Panting and shaking with need. Striving for release, for you.

 

And oh gods would you give it to him. It would have been delightful to draw it out, but you knew that you didn't have the time, not with the desperation in his beautiful voice, not with Haurchefant's clever tongue and caring fingers, not with the sins that waited still to commit. So instead you nudged closer to him still, relaxing your throat and clearing your mind of your body's objections, taking him so deeply that your nose nuzzled into the course black curls found below. And against his will—surely—he bucked into your throat in astonishment, letting loose a high-pitched whine before stilling his hips and _growling_ , deep and loud, naming the agony of his restraint.

 

Pain was ordinary to you. But Aymeric was extraordinary, and you would give him the attention he deserved.

 

“Fuck,” he hissed, through pants and gasps that he seemed to fight through like dense brambles. He was wandering like a blind man in the dark, and it was _painful_ not to see it written on his face. “Oh, my _Lady_ ,” he moaned, less sure now, less steady, and you realized that it was a warning as well as a request. It did not go unobserved by the man who pleased you in turn, either. What had started with soft hums of pleasure became low, wanton mewling, vibrating against you as he worked his magic, making you want to count the seconds until you could please him as well.

 

Soon, soon. Oh, so soon. You didn't mind Aymeric's lapse of control, far from it. Instead you repeated the effect, easing away and then sliding forward again, ignoring your body's protestations and reveling in the control you held over the man. Then you eased back, easily tasting his slick fluids and knowing there was so much more to come. You ran your tongue around him again, pressing firmly and swirling against every ilm of skin, sucking and enjoying the sweet gasps he still made, the last bout of calm in the eye of the hurricane.

 

And then you brought it to an end. You grasped his shaft firmly in your hand, a living thing, hot and wet and twitching. And this time you didn't bring him deep, no. You twisted your head to the side, awkwardly but with the ease of a woman who does not allow anything to stop her from achieving her goals. And, tongue extending to caress as much as you could reach, you sucked his tip against the roof of your mouth, grinding the sensitive skin against your palette and sucking hard, applying more friction than his nerves knew what to do with.

 

He broke, then, though he seemed to fight it, seemed to want to take you down with him as he flailed for breath. You felt him twitch violently in your hand and mouth, and his voice snapped along with his restraint. His staccato cries were hoarse, loud and bright, as if being restrained and unable to touch you, his voice was the only tool he could use to bring you to pleasure. It was glorious, raw and musical. So much so that you hardly noticed the earthy taste of his seed, aware only of his broken gasps of pleasure as you lapped and swallowed everything he gave you, refusing to let up until he wriggled and whimpered in discomfort. Too much sensation on his softening cock, and all you could think of was wanting more.

 

But reason prevailed, and you released him at last. You felt sticky and disheveled as if you had played in a warm summer rain, but it didn't matter because you could look now, could see the utter satisfaction on Aymeric's face, and the astonished admiration on Haurchefant's.

 

“Magnificent,” said the lord, a quiet echo in a palace of wonder. He had let up with his tongue at some point to watch, probably the only reason you had not followed the knight over the precipice, though he still stroked you gently with his fingers. It was nothing like the sensation you had felt before, but it still spoke of it, still kept you warm and wanting.

 

Aymeric seemed to hear this, whimpering in embarrassment beneath the lord's attention. “That it was,” he agreed quietly, an echo of pleasure still riding on his breath. But he refused to meet your eyes, seeming to want to shrink into the pillows, even as he ran his tongue over his teeth and panted shallowly in satisfaction. You envied Haurchefant then, for having seen him come undone, but he was lovely even afterwards: hair wild from thrashing and matted with sweat, aristocratic brows relaxed even as his eyes were squeezed shut, skin flush and vibrant in the cool air.

 

But then you looked to Haurchefant, and he looked a little contrite, perhaps truly regretting his lapse. “Forgive me, he was just too beautiful. You made him _sing_.” You could _see_ the desire in his eyes as they flicked between you, licking his lips innocently though they shined with your own fluids. How aroused he must be, the only one present still clothed, content only to give pleasure and watch.

 

You would change that, you thought. He might not have asked for it, but you would give it to him anyway. You would make him sing as well. Whether he knew it or not.


	3. Twinkle, Twinkle...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kids, don't try the belt thing at home. Yes, it _does _work (never-mind how I know this!), but it is a dick move in just about any situation ever. Consent, people! I will not be held responsible for your friends rendered pants-less in public and _no longer your friends.___

Lord Haurchefant had other plans, it seemed. Aymeric had wilted into the pillows, seeming to shrink from the lord's gaze, and so he returned to his previous source of amusement. He let his lips caress your thigh, meeting your eyes alone with a look that spoke of nothing but sex. He wanted to finish pleasing you, of course. His honor would not allow him to abandon the task, not with how deeply his fingers had moved you, how delicious the caress of his tongue.

 

But you had made your decision. Before he could sweep closer and claim his prize, you reached out to grab his hair, ruffling the wiry blue locks like a chocobo's feathers and holding him as firmly as he had held Aymeric. His eyes widened, uncomprehending, though he held still by your unspoken command.

 

Until he realized that you meant for him to stop. “But, dulcet! Please!” He was good at pleading, too, candy-blue eyes wide and almost teary with the horror of the idea that he might not get to _lick_ you again. You almost felt sorry for him, almost regretted stopping him, almost gave in to his tongue. But then Aymeric shifted around to look at you, peeking out sideways from his nest of protective cushions to chuckle at Haurchefant's foolishness. Deeply and quietly, like rocks tumbling in the bottom of a well, not enough energy to make it truly a laugh. His amusement was enough to fortify you, remind you that you were _all_ here to enjoy yourselves. And so you smirked, wickedly enough to deserve the mark of unbeliever, enough to call the whole inquisition down upon the three of you. And you crooked your finger in invitation, beckoning your lord to come to you even as you tugged on his storm-tossed hair.

 

Evidently, he could not resist so direct a command. He seemed almost as if he might want to, peering back at you with a stricken expression, as though he could not divine the reason or if he could, did not approve. But he complied, crawling up beside you like a chastised dog, looking down upon you wonderingly as he sat uncertainly to your right. Chewing his lip, peering at you uncertainly with eyes full of innocence and candy floss, puzzling through the implications of your demand.

 

He was _shy_. It was adorable, if incongruous, and you sat up to join him, bracing yourself on your hands and knees as you stretched upwards. He began to murmur an objection, his brows furrowed in thought and concern, but you captured his lips with yours to silence him with a kiss.

 

Truly, it was an impossible task. Rather than silence, you seemed only to encourage him, to whimper and squeak as you invaded his mouth, though he allowed it. He tasted different now, subtly so. A quiet flavor, perched lightly on his tongue, like lemon cake washed down with afternoon tea.

 

Finally he drew back, panting slightly and gazing at you with the most wanton confusion you had ever seen. “He tastes nice,” he nearly whispered, a distant echo of your own thoughts. You had forgotten that you, too, carried a flavor for him to sample, more bitter and rich, like black tea with bergamot.

 

Oh yes, it _was_ nice. You smiled lecherously as you moved in to kiss him again, rocking forward on your palms and spreading your knees, lifting your ass in the air to corner him like a coeurl on the hunt. You hadn't really thought about it, but evidently you had a spectator. Behind you, a deep voice grunted with surprise, then grumbled in appreciation. Evidently Aymeric was enjoying the sight that Haurchefant had been keeping to himself, and you were taken off-guard enough that the thought made you blush, and you had to check the sudden instinct to cover yourself.

 

But Haurchefant was not so cavalier. He squeaked into your mouth, flailing away from you to register his outrage. “Aymeric, you shameless heathen! Avert your eyes at once!” And he lurched forward to wrap you up in his arms and tumble after you, as though to save you from a rampaging chocobo. Together you rolled backwards in a tangle of arms and legs and silliness.

 

The laughter was supplied by said heathen, a disbelieving snicker that managed to convey your own thoughts as well as his.

 

You looked up to the knight, not so difficult now that you lay by his side, mere fulms away from the pillows and chains of his gaol. “My apologies,” he said, still grinning peevishly. “I hadn't realized that I was denied mine eyes as well as hands. Are there any other faculties you wish to deny me? I suppose mine tongue is off-limits as well, as you are doing a fair job of _starving_ me.”

 

Lord Haurchefant had sorted himself, now sitting over you on hands and knees, not unlike your position moments ago but with slightly less shameless nudity and one-hundred percent more trousers than you would have liked. He blinked slowly, considering the knight's complaint as if it had surprised him, and he needed to give it serious thought.

 

“Forgive me, my pet,” he said finally, flashing the man a quick cutting grin before returning to his serious facade. “I should have offered you a taste.” You weren't quite sure what he meant by that, but it became clear enough when he crawled gingerly over you, kneeling above your chest as he faced the captive knight and pretending, for all the world, that the two of them were alone.

 

“Promise you won't bite,” he admonished gently, raising his left hand to Aymeric's lips. The hand whose fingers had burrowed so gently within you, a little pruned and still sticky.

 

The knight almost didn't seem to consider the offer, looking at Haurchefant in insult and disbelief as though he'd been offered an empty teacup and a party hat. For a moment you thought you'd be saved the embarrassment, that he would do the rational thing, but this was not the night for rationality. After only a moment's indecision, his own eyes narrowed to mischief, and he darted out his tongue to taste.

 

You had thought yourself beyond shame. But it was not so. Your face heated and your breath stilled and burned like a hot stone dropped in a soup, nearly boiling over with embarrassment at the notion. Sure, Haurchefant had tasted you, but it was a natural consequence of the objective he was trying to accomplish. Certainly, you had tasted Aymeric, and... the thought certainly did keep you warm and moist, but that's because tongues were _necessarily_ involved in oral sex, and you could not be disgusted by something that signified so much pleasure for him. Surely it was a different matter for him to taste your fluids on a whim, for no other reason than to sample the flavor?

 

Or maybe it wasn't, because slowly his eyes slid closed and he hummed a warm note of satisfaction. And then he leaned forward to take more, gasping wetly as he opened his mouth, drawing the lord's fingers further inward as he watched Haurchefant beneath eyelids that fought against his desire to see.

 

Unconsciously you pressed your hand over your mouth to contain your mortification. But it wasn't about you, you realized. It was about them. No objection of yours could stop Haurchefant from drawing his fingers slowly back, then leaning in for an open-mouthed kiss. And you didn't want them to stop, didn't want them to hold back. It wasn't just for show. You had wondered how much of their earlier play had been directed at each-other and how much had been for you, but for the moment that captive knight seemed to register nothing but his captor. As with you, Haurchefant took his time, letting the other man lick and bite gently at his lips, purring in contentment as their tongues danced, a hand nestled in raven-black hair to secure them both.

 

Perhaps it was less a kiss and more a meal.

 

It wasn't the best angle from which to see it, but that was fine, too. Because with Haurchefant's knees astride your chest, you could see the rippling of his abdominal muscles as he moved, the unsteady movement of his chest as he breathed, and most importantly, the tight fit of his trousers. In fact, he was positioned just where you wanted him, and distracted, to boot. So with an eye on his activities and another on _him_ , you went to work.

 

You had always had deft hands. It was a requirement for a successful adventurer, the ability to pick up any manner of weapon or tool and have it singing for you within a few minutes of practice. Of course practice always made perfect, and one thing you were well practiced at was the art of getting into a man's pants, even if he didn't want to be out of them. And so, your quarry preoccupied, you made your assault. Your left hand traveled down the length of his erection, nudging the buttons open with a mere suggestion, almost a caress. As expected, he pulled back the moment he felt your touch, eyes wide with shock and darting for your hand as though you were an assassin, not a lover. He held your wrist between both of his, blinking his surprise for the fluttering of a breath, wondering what to do with you now that he held you so securely.

 

It had been a ruse.

 

Your right hand was your true weapon, lashing out quickly for his belt. He had believed you incapable of inflicting more damage without recourse to both hands, but he hadn't time to notice he was wrong. You struck like a cobra, pulling the extra length of his belt out of its securing loop, yanking hard in the opposite direction of the buckle's tongue, and then releasing it the second you felt the mechanism relax. His resistance only aided you, his startled backwards flail only ensuring that the clasp came undone. And then you let go, let him believe for one brief moment that he had won, that he could risk a dart for your other hand to contain the threat.

 

But even though his strong fingers closed around your right wrist, you were still close enough to grab his buckle and pull, and before he knew what had happened you held it triumphantly in your hand as it was pinned to the bed beside you. And as the belt was in your hand, it was no longer fulfilling its duty, leaving his trousers to sag around his hips, singing of what lay beneath.

 

It had perhaps not occurred to him that you, too, could wrestle.

 

Aymeric laughed musically, warm and rich with surprise and appreciation. “Well done, my Lady,” he said with a feral grin. “Mayhap he has misjudged which of us is the true threat.”

 

Haurchefant could only ignore him, falling backwards to sit astride your stomach, leaning over you to hold your wrists though the damage had been done. He held you securely, but he was not in command. His shock had turned to a blush, deep scarlet extending all the way to his long ears as he breathed from the tense moment's exertion. To your dismay, you could only see a peek of his smallclothes, loose black silk shorts concealing your true prize. But it was only a matter of time before you reached what you so fervently sought.

 

“What?” you asked, raising your eyebrows and shining a dazzling smile. “Am I to be denied a taste as well?” Your smile soon turned to giggling as he could gather no retort, merely frowning in puzzlement and moving his lips as though he wanted to speak, but had run out of words.

 

Finally he seemed to give in, his too-blue eyes locking with your own, finally seeming to see you for what you were. The woman he wanted, naked beneath him, asking for his touch. And so he released your wrists, slowly transferring his weight to his hands. Sitting atop you but looking still for all the world as though you held him captive instead, and he feared he might never win free.

 

He looked so vulnerable you almost feared you would break him. So you touched him carefully, running your hands along his chest and feeling the solid rise and fall of his breath, the slight give of his skin as it slid over bone and sinew. Gradually his nervousness melted like snow in the spring, turning to desire and affection, a soft look with an equally-soft blush as your hands made their way down to slip beneath the folds of fabric and touch him through his fine silk shorts.

 

And beneath his teeth you heard a high, hollow moan, rolling with the movement of his hips as he pressed against your hand and closed his eyes, surrendering to the feeling. Surrendering to your touch, and nearly sorry for disobeying it.

 

“My dear, sweet lady,” he said through his haze, voice pillow-soft and unsure. “Are you certain that...” but his words melted away like an icicle on his tongue as you slipped your hand further into the maze of fabric and wrapped it around his girth. He staggered, nearly failing to hold himself up with his hands, groaning deeply and furrowing his brows as you stroked him. He was gratifyingly large, slightly bigger around than Aymeric and fully hard. You wondered how much torture he had been putting himself through while he had pleased you both. Enough, certainly, to deserve some pleasure himself.

 

Coyly, you looked up to the captive knight, unsure of where his boundaries lay. But he was watching avidly, eyes locked to the ministrations of your hand and the skin that peeked out from beneath Haurchefant's smallclothes, glittering now with pearly fluid as you stroked him. “Aymeric?” you asked, not sure how to phrase your question but feeling it needed to be asked. As if the name had reminded Haurchefant of his audience, he too looked up, cheeks still flushed but no longer ashamed, merely wanton.

 

The knight startled, looking down in a mild panic, as though he'd been caught peeping at the bathhouse. But he had permission to look, here, because Haurchefant had seen to it that he could do naught otherwise. Perhaps realizing this, he scowled at you briefly, the same look he cast upon you every time you questioned him.

 

You wondered then if he had preferred not to admit his complicity, even to himself.

 

But then his scowl slid sideways, into a small affectionate smile, gilded with mischief. “Just... pretend I'm not here,” he said softly, letting his eyes travel along the length of your body and to Haurchefant's own, lingering indecently all along the way.

 

The remark seemed to rouse the lord, prompting him to pull on his mask and forget his shyness. He stared back like a ruffled owl, feigning hurt and insult. “Certainly not! I think I shall rather pretend you _are_ here, even when you are not. Or,” he trailed off, letting his eyes fall half-closed and seeming once again to feel the heat of your touch, “perhaps I shall never let you go.”

 

The answer seemed to please Aymeric, as little sense as it made. The other man growled in approval, almost purring as he relaxed in his chains to watch with shrewd attention. And it finally occurred to you that you had what you wanted. Haurchefant in your grasp, literally and figuratively, and nothing to stop you from claiming him. So, quite naturally, you wound your free hand into his hair, ruffling it slightly as you moved and then gripping him solidly behind his neck. He stared down at you with trembling breath, with wonder and not a little need. Before his lips could form another objection, you pulled him down for a kiss.

 

It was different, somehow, than kisses previous. He was liquid in your grasp, melted from the scalding heat between you and flowing out over your skin. He lowered himself to one elbow and set his other hand free, touching wherever he could reach with fluttering caresses that turned to firm and needy. And his tongue! It was not an aggressive kiss, merely assertive, answering your challenge with no more hesitation. He pressed firmly against your lips, no longer afraid of you, but meeting your searching tongue as an equal, as a lover. His mouth would have set you on fire, if the molten iron beneath your hand hadn't already. He had finally accepted that you wanted him, and answered the request, sealing the arrangement with the occasional deep, rumbling moan that seemed to echo through his entire body and induce waves of delight in yours.

 

Oh, but it was music, sweet music.

 

But you needed more of him, far more. You released his hair to make another assault on his clothing, this time with his cooperation. He straightened to help, fixing you with a wistful look that bordered on regret. He was no longer playing with you, no longer in control of his mask. It seemed you had drilled to the bottom of his facade and shattered it apart, and now you saw all his insecurity and ardor all at once. He was a tempest of emotion, swirling beneath crystal-blue eyes and storm-tossed hair, an innocent blush and a wide mouth that seemed to gasp just from the effort of holding himself together. But still he cooperated, shyly slipping out of his pants and then pausing, letting you guide his shorts down his hips with a teasing caress before he kicked them away to kneel between your legs as though he didn't know what he was doing there.

 

You helped him out with that, easily spreading your legs around his knees, and trailing a hand to part your labia for him to see. To remind him how fascinated he had been before, and that you still required his attention. To remind him of the precise reason he was so fully erect, flushed redder than his face and wet himself. He groaned at the action, not even looking more than a moment but appreciating the forwardness anyway, looking instead at the whole picture before him through lids lowered halfway to sin as he moved over you.

 

Then he seemed to startle for a moment, blinking wide awake as from a dream and regarding you with concern. “Is it... is it truly wise?” You weren't sure what he was talking about until he brushed a tender hand over your belly, and you realized he feared the consequences of indiscretion. It seemed odd until you remembered what he and his mother had no-doubt endured when he was young. He was caring to the last, even in the throes of lust.

 

You smiled sweetly, touched by his concern and silliness both. “Alchemy is a beautiful thing,” you declared. An adventurer was always prepared, after all. You had already taken the potion some hours previous, having hoped that the night might turn out well. You could not have possibly guessed _how_ well.

 

There was a vague snort of approval somewhere behind you, but it was of no concern, you were too preoccupied with the man before you. You simply embedded all ten of your fingers in his cheerful blue hair, already tangled from your meddling but still just soft enough to _need_ your touch. And you pulled, denying him the option of hesitance, guiding him to the correct decision and to your waiting body. He accepted your judgment, your touch, your demands. He accepted your lips, too, willingly losing himself in your arms, sinking into your embrace and allowing himself to rub sensuously between your legs.

 

You had him. You had his tongue, insistent now, unfocused and needy. You had his body, the delightful expanse of his skin pressed fully to yours, his hand caressing one breast restlessly. And you had his cock, his glorious cock, pressing firming against your vulva as though it knew its destination, skin soft but hot like a brand. You let your hands travel to his waist, to hold him as you spread your knees and lifted your hips, to grind against him brazenly. You could feel him everywhere it mattered, the long sensitive slide between your labia and the frantic star of intensity of your clitoris. Everywhere but where you needed him.

 

He seemed to think so too, groaning wantonly into your mouth and breaking away to gasp and pant. “Oh, my sweet,” he said, moaning low against your lips with a voice so husky and sensual you could not have thought to deny him his request. “Please do not tease me so, I fear I shall break...”

 

In that moment you forgot that it had been he who had done the teasing, behaving as if he intended to let you and Aymeric have all the fun for yourselves. You forgot it completely, moving immediately to satisfy him, to grasp him in your hands and guide him to you. You could feel his rib-cage still as the breath caught in his throat, the sudden silence nearly deafening and making you realize how needfully he had gasped and groaned with every exhale. And he waited, still as porcelain, eyes squeezed shut as though he feared the result. Waiting, not just for permission, but for you to perform the act yourself. Waiting for you to show him that you truly wanted him, so that he could know with certainty that it was by your will that you were his.

 

So you did.

 

It wasn't difficult at all. You were so wet, so sensitized, so ready for him. There was a space within you that you needed him to fill, and you were already clenching to feel him even as you rubbed his tip along the length of your vulva and pulled from him another tortured gasp. But he had stretched you already, and he was so, so hard. You merely had to push him into the right angle and lift your hips, and he was there, easily penetrating several ilms.

 

And then the puppet lost his strings, whimpering a long, gurgling sigh as he collapsed in your arms.

 

That was no good. He wasn't looking at you anymore, but laying his head on your shoulder. But he was not relaxed, not at all, the tension in his hips was strung tight as a bowstring. He was merely focused, either on the sensation or the need to keep still.

 

You turned your face toward him, nuzzling into the rowdy nest of hair that so beautifully reflected his thoughts. “Did you not expect that I would want you?” you whispered near his ear. That did the trick, because he turned around to look at you intently, his head still laying on your chest. It seemed to remind him of what else he lay near, because he returned one hand to touching you, not groping your breast but stroking lightly with the tips of his fingers. A ghostly sensation, reverent.

 

Still he looked at you, as though he had never seen you up close, as though he had only ever looked upon you from afar, a bystander or an admirer but never an equal. “I did not presume to think you would want more than supper,” he said. His voice was thin like the branch of a willow, strong because it could bend.

 

There may have been a noise, a snort of disbelief or derision or perchance merely desire, coming from someplace behind you. But you weren't paying attention. Instead you were focused on the sensations between your legs. There was little soreness, you wanted him too badly for that. He wasn't nearly deep enough, and your body seemed to be working to correct the error, your abdominal muscles fluttering and seizing around him as you moved your hips. Minute movements, not even conscious, but unable to be stilled.

 

Finally he had had enough. His eyes drooped closed and you knew you had broken him, because he let loose a long, agonizing sigh and began to whisper blindly against your neck. “Please, my love... have pity... oh... oh _Goddess_...” and his words took a precipitous drop into a deep moan as you wrapped your arms around his back and pulled.

 

He complied with your wordless request and slid home, buried deep within you and making you gasp sharply, feeling, just for a moment, complete. But it didn't last long, because he didn't stop. Small movements at first, gentle, without force. The force was in his lungs, a struggling, keening breath that he couldn't quite seem to draw fully. He was too unsteady, eyes half-closed and brow furrowed, as if to feel so much pleasure was an agony that he had never expected to endure. He still looked at you, though, struggling carefully onto his hands to hover above you, giving more definition to his sensuous movements.

 

He looked at you as if you were all that existed. The only thing he ever wanted to see again.

 

And it occurred to you that perhaps, just perhaps, you wanted him to keep looking at you like that, from now until the end of your adventure.

 

Your arms wound once again around his neck, less to guide and more to embrace, feeling now like every ilm of contact mattered in ways you couldn't quite express. And he seemed to agree, because he too drew you close, burrowing beneath you with one arm and clutching your shoulders to him. The simple action seemed to transform the way you moved together. Before, he had anchored himself securely to deliver small thrusts against hips eager to meet him, which were gradually becoming long and rolling. Now you moved as one unit, able to anticipate each thrust in advance and rise to press against him. He became more than a longed-for warmth within you, but something more. Tingling and hot, so very deep, touching places that you could only know existed because he set your nerves to rattling by brushing against them just... so.

 

And because he held you close, he seemed to be brushing against all the right places. Your embrace had seemed calm but now you could experience it as nothing but frantic, because he was grinding against your clit with every motion, and pleasure sparked to life within you like a coal that had never cooled.

 

You melted in his arms, then, because you finally had him, and it felt like everything you had ever dreamed. It was not as intense as what he had done earlier, the biting pleasure of his tongue, but you were stretched and filled and so warm from it that it didn't matter. The only thing that would keep you from wanting to bathe in his grasp forever was the way you gasped for air at his quickening movements, and the way your breath caught in your throat as you looked back into his eyes. It was irrational, but you were beginning to fear that if he kept looking at you like that, like he was fighting to stay within a dream that eluded him as he too gasped at the warming air, you were afraid you might choke on the force of your own emotion. Or perhaps on his. Because you could see it, plain as day, reflected in his eyes. Crystal blue, but not deep, because that would have implied that their depths were hidden. No, you could see his thoughts so plainly that it was rather more like the frozen surface of a shallow puddle. Every little thing, every twig and pebble within, was laid out to trace with trembling fingertips.

 

You could not have doubted that he was yours, any more than you could have doubted the coldness of the ice or the heat of his body.

 

Or the pleasure that built, slowly and inexorably, within yours.

 

You were startled by it at first, startled by that sounds that escaped your breast, fighting their way through your throat though it had been quite occupied at the simple task of sustaining the breath of life. But it had indeed been you, gasping and keening not merely in encouragement but in simple joy, a warm simmering pleasure that you could not have resisted even if you had wanted to.

 

His eyes sharpened then, focusing on you even as his lashes fluttered wildly against the sensations in his own body. “Oh, _yes_ ,” he whispered, the words somehow becoming their own answering growl as he struggled to watch you. “Don't fight, my sweet. Pray, let me... let me...”

 

Let me please you, you had to finish for him, though he could have intended a different word. It did not matter, the meaning was unquestionable, as was his need. His eyes finally slid closed and you could no longer watch him, because his expressive lips were fluttering against your neck and shoulder, and he no longer seemed to be able to hold you close enough. He was grasping you as though he might drown if he let go, one arm beneath your back and the other holding solidly to your hip, guiding you and giving his movements shape, sharpness, definition. You could hear his every breath, panting abbreviated to short grunts and groans, sounding simultaneously helpless, distraught, and exultant.

 

Unlike Aymeric, he could not let himself go. He had resolved that if he could not bring you to ecstasy with his tongue, he would do so with his cock. He had a fairly good start at it, too, because the grinding of his pelvis against you was once again filling you with that warm bath of pleasure, that rich velvet flavor that wrapped around the space within you that was no longer empty but gloriously, sensuously, full of _him_. This time when your body seized and clenched in sympathy with the sparks of desire he stirred, you closed around Haurchefant, and you heard him whimper and groan as his movements faltered every time he felt it.

 

Perhaps he had _not_ anticipated that you wanted him, though you would have to give consideration to whether you believed him once you were capable of cogent thought. But you had a habit of surprising him, of interrupting his plans and charging into the brink. You had slain Shiva and you had stolen his belt, and now you would fail once again to cooperate with his aims.

 

Not because he could not move you to pleasure, but because nothing would give you more.

 

The rich, ragged sounds of his own lust were enough to tell you as much. He was slipping, falling deep into the rhythm of the dance, and you were certain as the sun that he was no longer in control of the pace. His moans and whimpers and quiet pleas echoed in the sheltered space between your shoulder and neck, filling your ear with the proof of his undoing. His breath would rasp wet and loud even otherwise, but now even your own encouraging sighs could not drown him out. You had him, had him clenched tight in the deep space beneath your belly, and you would be his undoing.

 

You knew the precise moment at which he realized it, because pushed himself up to lean over you with an anguished groan, an exclamation of agony. He could not stop though, even as he once again locked eyes with you, glazed and a little wild, seeing perhaps not only his love but some strange fey world where reality had blended with madness. His hips would not still, his hands would not release you. Still he clutched you near, thrusting within and against you as though his heart would cease to beat otherwise. But his lips trembled as his eyes blinked unsteadily against the dim light, and vainly he plucked words from the air to rally against you.

 

“Please,” he said, or perhaps he merely moaned deliciously and you imagined his words painted against the night. “Please, my love, please, I need...”

 

The deep, longing groan that filled the silence as he closed his eyes and surrendered to another moment of pleasure belonged, surprisingly, to neither of you. But he continued, undeterred, speaking through gritted teeth though you sought to break his focus with a will he would never have thought to oppose outside his bedroom. “I need you, I need... oh _gods_ , my dearest, _please_ , I need you to...” and then his words were lost, lost in a maze of deep pants and long, breathy moans. He gave up even trying to look at you, nuzzling against you instead, laying haphazard kisses against the soft skin of your throat and sensitizing it to the moisture of his deep exhalation.

 

In response, you arched against him, meeting his thrust with particular relish and squeezing the muscles beyond your thighs to embrace him tight. “No,” you said petulantly, though it rumbled deep like a purr.

 

Perhaps it was your denial, or perhaps it was the way you clenched your body around him, but he could only toss his head back like a chocobo prancing in a parade, and moan brazenly with eyes squeezed shut and mouth open to the night. You didn't even try to conceal your pleasure, answering him immediately with your throat and your hips, taking up the faltering of his rhythm with the force of your own, not letting him escape though it would be his undoing.

 

You counted yourself lucky that he was so expressive, because his voice told you everything you needed to know. It would be soon, very soon.

 

But he would not go quietly. Instead he pushed himself backward, releasing his secure hold on you and glaring as though you'd said you were out to slay a dozen primals with a teaspoon for a sword and a saucer for a shield. You regretted it immediately, only belatedly reaching for his shoulders with grasping fingers and finding no purchase. You were stronger in theory, but he had not neglected his training. There was no stopping him as he stilled his hips and grasped your own, repositioning you both. He pulled you against his lap as he sat upright and watched you with half-closed eyes, caressing his lips with the pointed tip of his tongue.

 

You had only enough time to think that he was beautiful like that, overcome with emotion and pleasure but defiant to the last. And then he gripped your left leg and pulled it over his shoulder again, clutching your calf to his neck with the same secure hold with which he had grasped your thigh earlier. You arched your back to keep in contact with him, only partially resting on his knees and straining to keep him from escaping. But instead of resuming his thrust he trailed one hand down the inside of your leg, down your thigh and to the wet space between.

 

He was well familiar with what lay between your legs, and he put his knowledge to use. He ghosted his palm over the soft pad of flesh below your stomach, and slowly stretched out his thumb. It slid into place, slowly, achingly rubbing against you, moving beyond labia that no longer covered you and eased by the desires he'd already stirred within. Finally he rubbed against your clitoris, hard and direct and dirty. It was all you could do to arch your back and squeeze your thighs around him, moaning throatily with delight.

 

So perhaps he would prove a challenge.

 

It was not as if he were in command, though. Because that was all it took to send him back into motion again, groaning raggedly and loudly as he leaned into the thrust. “ _Gods_ yes,” he hissed triumphantly as he moved, eyes squeezed almost shut, with the whites of his sclera just visible below his lids. If his thrusts were sensual before, they were _savage_ now. Not painful, but deep and hard, raking against the whole length of your cunt and seeming to connect with every nerve. And as he moved, you moved beneath him, rocking beneath his hand as you met his thrusts with your hips, inadvertently at first but then deliberately, unable to refuse the pleasure that he offered from his hands or his cock.

 

You could feel it building within you. It had been simmering and velvety before, but now it was bright and loud. There was pressure there, like a boiling pot covered by a lid. By touching you he had turned up the heat to a roiling pitch, and your body had responded. You squeezed him now not because you wanted to please him, but because your body could not do otherwise. You _needed_ to grasp and press and push against him, because the stroking of his thumb made you sensitive to him, made you gasp and shout for more. You could no longer still your breath or rest your throat, because you were no more in command of your body than he was of his.

 

In retrospect, if your goal had been for him to lose all semblance of control, that was all you needed to have done.

 

You became aware quite quickly that your own high-pitched moans were not the only sounds between you. He too was gasping against the ragged night air, mouth open and eyes tightly shut, brows furrowed in concentration and wrinkling the wide bridge of his nose. Like you he could barely find space to breathe, too busy plaintively moaning his pleasure in a voice twisted someplace between anguish and ecstasy. But as promised, it didn't last. Suddenly his eyes were upon you again, open and clear, and through your own haze you were glad you had not missed it.

 

“Goddess fucking _damn it_ ,” he hissed, following it up with an achingly deep groan. Then his eyes were closed again, his hips renewing their pace and you knew for certain that he had given up. “Oh gods... oh gods _yes_... oh my... oh my love...” His movements reached a crescendo and then, with one final violent thrust, he buried himself within you and held you close. “Oh... _fuck!_ ” He had not stilled though, a convulsion seeming to travel along his body as he groaned, long and low, gritting his teeth animalistically and tossing his head backwards to revel in the sensation.

 

You had never been so aroused as you had at that moment, feeling him come within you though he had tried to resist, helpless to prevent it.

 

So when he recovered enough to open his eyes again, gasping over teeth wet with saliva and desperation, you helped him out. You arched against him once more, squeezing him with your hips both inside and out, indicating to him that just because he had finished, he need not be done. He whimpered and winced at the sensation, a pleasure so overwhelming it was nearly painful, but he understood. He bit his lip, returned his hand to its sure caress, and leaned forward to resume his thrust.

 

He was not as hard as he had been, not as savage with his fury. But it did not matter. He touched you as if you were the only thing that mattered in all the world, looking at you earnestly as though you'd captured his soul in a jar. And because you had seen him come undone, and felt his helpless cries echo in the depths of your own breast, it was all that you needed. The pressure he had built was yet still within you, making you squeeze around his cock and moan in exultation at the feeling of being filled.

 

Before you knew what was happening, you too had come undone, bucking wildly against him and then squeezing him with your thighs hard enough to make him stop and merely _twitch_. Still he watched you, eyes wide with wonder and lips wet with sin. You didn't merely cry out for him, then. You screamed and yelled, and the space between your legs grew warm and wet as you convulsed around him.

 

Finally you relaxed, releasing the poor man. He withdrew slowly, wincing and making silly faces as he moved, and then flopped to the bed beside you to wrap an arm over your chest. He brushed the underside of your breasts rather purposefully with his arm, but it was not a lewd gesture. Perhaps merely appreciative, admiration wrapped in a protective impulse that was as innocent as his sigh of satiation and sleepiness.

 

It would have been lovely, then, to snuggle close to him and fall asleep. But there was other business on the agenda still. Slowly you tipped your head backwards to regard the man who watched you, struggling not to blush.

 

Aymeric had not succeeded at the same task, though it was hard to say if it was embarrassment or arousal that colored his winter-pale skin. He was breathing heavily as though winded, pulling short gasps of air through lips that he traced restlessly with his tongue. And he was watching you. Watching you both, as though he had never seen anything so singularly arresting, and might never chance to again.

 

You wanted to ask if he was alright. But you remembered that it had always seemed to annoy him, so you read the signs he readily gave. He was once again quite erect, and though some male instinct had led him to bend one leg in an attempt to block your view, it failed to do aught but render him more picturesque. He had watched you make love to Haurchefant, and the sight had only excited him, made him hum and gasp in pleasure and wish for the touch of love himself.

 

The question was, whose touch was it that he wanted?

 

As if in answer to the question, he finally found his voice, looking at the pair of you nestled close by his side as if to tuck in for a winter's sleep.

 

“I swear upon the Fury's very _spear_ , if one of you doesn't fuck me _right now_ I will chew through these chains and see to the problem mineself.” There was acid in his words but no anger, merely a cool veneer of threat melting over the rumble of his arousal.

 

Haurchefant convulsed to grip you yet tighter, holding you to his chest as he giggled shamelessly. It was quiet, easy laughter, tired and giddy, not the least concerned. “Can we watch?” he asked when the fit had subsided, and the thought was amusing enough that you didn't mind him speaking for you.

 

“Do it yourself if you want to see it so badly,” frowned the captive knight, but his glower did not last long under your lover's childlike glee. Once again his lips slid into a bemused grin, as though mischief and mayhem were their natural shape, and he was helpless to resist the impulse.

 

The arms that held you close twitched and shrugged. “Do you suppose we should keep him, my darling?” asked Haurchefant. “We could always spare his teeth and set him free if you do not want him. But I do _so_ enjoy pets.” He kissed your temple and then laid his head at your shoulder to smile, full of gumdrops and sweetness and innocent fun, rainbows dancing behind his eyelashes.

 

As ever with the two of them, he left the decision up to you. To take the knight or leave him. To let your lord give him what he desired, or set the wolf free into the wild to spill the wine upon the ground like the blood of his prey, and feed upon popotoes gone cold and lifeless.

 

So you returned Lord Haurchefant's smile, perhaps a little more tart than his sugarplums and unable to pretend to his innocence with such thoughts in your mind. You didn't trust yourself to put them into words, so you fell back on your adventurer's instincts. You nodded your assent.

 

The beast was hungry, after all. It might very well take the _both_ of you to satisfy his hunger.


End file.
